"I'm not blind to the merit of the wonderful gift of Leaves of Grass . I think the most extraordinary product of wit and wisdom that has given so far the United States, "Emerson writes in a letter to Whitman after he edited for the first time in 1855, at age 36, his great poems. Leaves of Grass but not a single birth. Whitman writes and edits and increases as the age of 73, in his deathbed, reviews evidence of the last and eighth edition you do in life.
This progressive writing experience of a single book of poems is not unique to Whitman. The flowers of evil is also the only book of Baudelaire, and reality and desire is what Cernuda. But achievements are necessarily disparate and distant. In Whitman survives the adventurous spirit that made America a nation complex and arrogant, and it is this contradiction which invariably characterizes the poet. It Whitman sing many, many men who have no voice and are expressed through his powerful word. Interestingly
innovative poetry all suffer the rudeness of any established intelligentsia. Whitman is accused of all immoralities that his critics could have imagined. Emerson only warns the huge leap in American poetry, the incredible flight achieved by the U.S. literature in the second half of last century. Whitman did not shrink from criticism. Without false modesty is aware of his genius and move on. Going door to door selling his poetry books. Try publishing and journalism, but fails.
His poems are breath away. It burns the vitality that does not gel in narrow ways. Therefore has trouble finding the right language. His doubts are not really the verse in rhyme or free verse, but the one that best reflects and expresses life itself, the everyday, common talk. Evidence of this struggle visceral writes: "Sometimes I think my blades are only a language experiment." That is, an experiment to find a more humane and proper expression.
Whitman was not, fortunately, an intellectual. Spontaneous vitality gives epic poems and lyrical intensity not previously achieved in American poetry. Some critics believe that many of his poems corrected or modified ("thought") are lower than the original. Intellectualization of a poem after the poet's personality undermines vital.
Whitman sings to everyone and everything. The world and its creatures animate and inanimate reborn in his word. He speaks with and for each of the parts of the universe. His spirit all-embracing, oceanic, universal share the global focus of César Vallejo or Baudelaire. Name as many things to accuse him of coleccionsita of places and names and nothing in exchange for poetry. Whitman is helpless to criticism and moral myopia. Sing to the body and all its pleasures, the man and woman, heaven and hell. And in this comprehensive effort, of course, contradicts himself, because his poetry is not a simple statement logical: "What I contradict myself? / Well, I contradict myself." By singing to sex, according to critics, is immoral, for singing to the man is homosexual, by singing to leisure and idleness, is a parasite, etc. Whitman's covers everyone. However, his life is not so great and adventurous as his poetic sensibility.
Emerson says that "his language is a mixture of Bhagavat-Geeta and the New York Herald." A mixture of literary and spoken language of the street. A retrospective study in the pathways. Whitman tells us about his lectures and tours: "I used to go sometimes an entire week, the countryside or the coast of Long Island, where, under the influence the outdoors, reading from beginning to end the Old and New Testaments, and absorbed (probably to better advantage than in any library or closed room, creates so much difference where you read) to Shakespeare, Ossian, the best versions I could get Homer, Aeschylus, Sophocles, the old German Nibelungen, the ancient Hindu poems and some masterpieces, including those of Dante. " The books and nature, culture and life are the elements of their creative center. Whitman
not a classic in the sense funeral and mystified that gives this word. Whitman is contradictory as life, and it remains alive in the consciousness that like him, know that poetry is part of the best of our lives. No grid poetry, not poetry formalized in rhythms and images sweetened by the intelligentsia. Neither the sickly to and end with subjectivism and verbal games. Instead, like Whitman, like Vallejo, poetry huge, tumultuous, ripped clean of mercenaries, the street poetry of the heroic people who sing through their poets and creates a new word, multiple sense, singing to itself joyous hopes.
0 comments:
Post a Comment